


Someday

by BlasphemousProphet



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Jealous Ian, M/M, all hail mickey milkovich, fuck the shameless writers, getting someone to trust you takes time, happyish ending, he deserved better, he gets what he deserves here, ian is a fuckwit, mickey deserves the best, mickey is really fucking brave, mickey is the best boyfriend, not an easy season 5 fix it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:17:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3801574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlasphemousProphet/pseuds/BlasphemousProphet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian will do anything to earn Mickey's love and trust back again after the events of 5.12 but Mickey is tense and nervous around him and seeing Ian seems to break his heart. Ian works to earn Mickey's forgiveness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someday

Ian was the only person Mickey allowed to touch him without twitching or getting tense or losing patience or pulling out a knife. Ian was the only person that was allowed to grab Mickey’s feet, toss his sneakers off, pull them into his lap and just hold them while they waited for the barbecue to cook.   
“Guess who?” smirked a voice, laying hands around Mickey’s face.   
Mickey jerked around, knocking his feet out of Ian’s lap. “Jake?”  
Behind Jake Iggy was grinning. “I knew he’d be glad to see you,” Iggy said.  
Ian didn’t like the proprietary way Jake pulled Mickey out of his chair for a hug. He didn’t like the way Mickey had stopped moving out of shock. Ian hadn’t noticed- really, he hadn’t- how much time Mickey spent staring at him in the day until the rare moment when Mickey’s eyes weren’t on him. This was one of those times but it seemed to be lasting a hell of a lot longer than a moment.   
“This is Mandy,” said Iggy, “And that’s Mickey’s friend Ian,” he added, jerking a thumb at Ian and walking away.  
“So how you been, man?” Jake was mumbling.   
“…Good. Good. I’ve been good,” said Mickey quickly in a way which Ian would have thought was adorable if it was directed at him.   
Ian elbowed Mandy. “Who the fuck is that?”  
Mandy was staring at Jake too. “He’s hot, right? Iggy’s pretty sure he was Ian’s first.”  
Ian had never considered that Mickey might have a first that wasn’t him. Mickey didn’t like to talk about things that happened to him before Ian. Whenever Mickey reminisced it was repeating stories about adventures he had been on with Ian, to Ian, exaggerating their exploits just to make Ian laugh.   
Ian didn’t get jealous of Mickey with other guys. Mickey had never seemed remotely interested in guys or girls or anyone that wasn’t Ian. Mickey got jealous a lot. It was cute, the way he assumed everyone in the world would be into Ian the way he was. (Of course they weren’t. No one was into Ian the way Mickey was.) Mickey had been known to get very jealous and often. But if this was how jealousy felt- like you wanted to bare your teeth before drifting into a corner to give up and slowly die- then Ian’s heart ached for all the times he had felt smug about letting Mickey get jealous of some loser in a bar in order to prove for the millionth time that Mickey wanted him the way he wanted Mickey. Ian felt the absence of Mickey’s glance like a weight.  
“So you must work out, right?” Jake was asking Mickey, feeling his arms.   
“Are you sure?” asked Ian. Mandy shrugged.  
Ian went into the kitchen to get his phone from where it was charging in the kitchen. He couldn’t watch. “Hey,” whispered Mickey, holding Ian’s phone out like a gift.   
“Thanks,” said Ian shortly. “So you know that prick?”   
“Iggy’s friend,” said Mickey. “What’s with your head?”  
“Nothing,” said Ian.   
Mickey touched his arm in what was supposed to be a soothing touch. To Ian it felt like a goodbye.   
“So how do you know Mickey?” asked Ian.   
“We used to hang out,” said Jake smugly.   
“When?”  
“Let’s see…I was eighteen so you were fourteen?”  
“Yeah,” said Mickey quickly.   
“How do you know Mickey?” said Jake.  
Ian glanced at Mickey. Calling Mickey his boyfriend in front of his family would freak Mickey out. Saying they were together would send Mickey into a confusion spiral that would make him unwilling to go near Ian out of fear of what it all meant. Saying he was in love with Mickey would render Mick speechless and terrified. So Ian said nothing.   
“They’re friends,” said Mandy finally.   
Mickey was sweating. Ian volunteered to go into the kitchen to get more hot dogs.   
“So…you’re buddies with Mick, right?” said Jake. “You know if he’s still down?”  
“What?”  
“You know…” Jake lowered his voice. “If he’s seeing anyone. He got hella hot, amirite?”  
“Why would you ask me?” Ian snapped.   
“Dude, I know you. I’ve seen you at Fairytales.”  
“I haven’t worked there in a year.”  
Jake shrugged. “So he’s single?”  
Ian shoved the pack of hot dogs in Jake’s hands. “I gotta go,” he said. 

Mickey found Ian in the dugout, smoking like a chimney.  
“You wanna look at the stars or some other faggy shit?” invited Mickey.   
“You’re also a fag,” Ian snapped.  
Mickey’s face shut down.  
“How many guys were there before me?” asked Ian quietly.   
Mickey blinked. “Is that what this is about?”  
“Yeah!”  
Mickey sat down. “Gallagher, I used to do anyone with a dick and a pulse who could keep it on the DL. Fast, hard alleyway fucks. But you…you made things different.”  
Ian tried to resist smiling. “Jake was my first time,” said Mickey slowly. “It was in the back of some old dude’s car, the guy was jerking himself off the whole time and I was pretty wasted.”  
“But you liked it?”  
“I thought that was the best I could do.”  
“And now?”  
“Fuck off,” groaned Mickey, standing up. Ian was on top of him like a bolt of lightning, pinning him to the wall.   
“And now?” Ian repeated, aware that he was on shaky ground but too angry at the memory of Jake to let it go.   
Mickey looked at him. “You know what now,” Mickey said, his voice soft but dangerous. Ian smiled his shit eating grin and kneeled down.   
“Can’t,” said Mickey. “Meeting Jake and Iggy at the dugout. Wanna come?”  
Ian was frozen on the floor. Mickey dropped a kiss on his head and left.   
“Since when did you become Mr. Popular?” Ian yelled but Mickey was already gone.   
Ian slouched onto the couch, feeling bereft. No one was like Mickey. There was this Asian kid he fucked, the first guy since Mickey went to juvie the second time, when he realized that he and Mickey were made for each other.   
It took six beers and an hour to get the Asian’s ass to relax. The kid was staring at Ian’s dick with such trepidation that Ian felt like a rapist. Not to mention this dude was totally flaccid. Mickey had been so enthusiastic every single time that Ian had just assumed he was a god at sex. It had been sort of a rough awakening. By the time the kid and Ian had figured out how to make it work Mickey was back and no one else existed with Mickey around.  
Pretty much except for Mickey had been terrified of his nine inch dick. Mickey seemed to welcome the challenge. The first time he saw it he gaped and glanced back at Ian and then back at the cock and began sucking it like he was born to do just that. If there was any kind of god in the world maybe he was.  
“Just…do it,” Mickey gritted out. It was probably humiliating to be leaning over the counter like that, ass out, but honestly Ian was enjoying the view and he wanted to make this comfortable and enjoyable for Mickey. “Put it in already,” groaned Mickey halfheartedly but his hands were clutching the edge of the counter like he was worried. Ian leaned over to Mickey.   
“We don’t have to do this,” Ian said slowly.   
Mickey blinked. “Are you kidding me? I want to,” he said without thinking and Ian could tell he instantly regretted being so honest because he placed his hand in his hands like he was determined not to make another sound but fuck Ian was going to drag those sounds out of him if it was the last thing he did.  
It took Ian a while to figure that Mickey was speaking Ukrainian during sex. Mickey refused to talk about it and Mandy didn’t like talking about their mother. “Bozhe miy!” Mickey would groan before clenching his fists and resolving not to open his mouth until the next time Ian dipped his fingers in Mickey’s mouth. At first it was just instructions like “ebatʹ mene sylʹnishe” but eventually Mickey began mumbling “ya tebe lyublyu” before throwing Ian’s pants at him and disappearing. It meant I love you but Ian wasn’t going to make Mickey say anything he wasn’t ready to say. It was sweet the way Mickey thought he was so fucking sexy and mysterious when all he wanted, all he had ever wanted, was Mickey.   
Having sex with Mickey wasn’t like having sex with anyone else. Mickey sometimes smiled, and there were different kinds of sex. Rough dirty sex, long extended fucks, fight sex, gentle sex, and the possibilities were infinite. Mickey always seemed so calm when they were done, like all the tension had faded out of him, like he actually liked Ian.   
Ian would never forget the day he found Mickey in the back of the Kash and Grab trying to shove a glass coke bottle down his throat.   
“What are you doing?”  
“Jesus, man! Do not sneak up on me like that!”  
“Were you deep throating that bottle?”  
“Practice,” muttered Mickey, getting red in the face, throwing the bottle on the floor where it shattered. Mickey didn’t show up for work for a day. Ian found him on one of his roofs.   
“Y’know I was this close to throwing myself off this roof after terry found us?” said Mickey without preamble.   
Ian stared at him.   
“Then you showed up,” said Mickey. If I opened my mouth I would have cried like a little bitch.  
Ian didn’t know what to say. “Just figured I owed you one,” said Mickey brusquely. “Thought I should get better at sucking dick.”  
“But you were already good,” Ian blurted. He wasn’t lying. Looking down and seeing Mickey’s blue eyes fluttering over his cock was the hottest thing in the world.   
The days after Mickey broke up with him were the hardest in Ian’s life. Ian barely remembered them, just little flashes like he was being stabbed in the back.   
"I came out for you, you piece of shit!" yelled Mickey and while Ian might not have been feeling much the past couple of days he certainly felt that.  
Mickey visited him in jail.   
"This isn't working," said Mickey, without preamble, getting right to the fucking point. Ian loved that about him.   
"It's only two more weeks to my trial, man-"  
"I'm not fucking talking about that! I'm talking about us!" snapped Mickey, sweaty hands clutching the phone as Ian stared at him.   
Ian was silent.   
"You cheated on me. You don't even seem like you like me most days. You fucking yell and snap and I bring you your meds and this isn't working," said Mickey. "Is there someone else?" said Ian.   
"Don't be fuckin' stupid," said Mickey roughly.   
"Look, once I come out of jail we can talk about it, we can change shit-"  
"I don't want to," said Mickey softly. "Not anymore."  
"I waited for you," said Ian, trying not to cry. "You beat me up and you said I didn't matter and you fucked a bunch of chicks on the side and I didn't say anything at all."  
"Yeah? And I bring you your meds everyday so you can spit in my fucking face and lie to me about all the other dudes that you're fucking."  
Ian rubbed his forehead. "This isn't fair," he said.   
"Fuck yeah it isn't fair. You know I didn't want to fuck those girls, didn't enjoy it, did it because my dad....with you it was different so fuck you! I came out for you! I got shot twice for you! Fuck you and the dicks you rode in on!"  
"I don't-"  
"It isn't funny," yelled Mickey.   
"You stayed a lot longer than anyone thought you would," said Ian finally.   
"Yeah, well, it's because I'm a fucking idiot," said Mickey, tossing down the phone and walking away.   
Years ago Ian had visited him in juvie, put his hand on the glass and told him he missed him and that had been all Mickey thought about until he got out.   
But this wasn't that Ian anymore. He had replaced with some red haired alien that just watched and watched all the shit that was going on, whose dick didn't get hard for Mickey, who didn't look at Mickey like the sun shone out of his goddamn ass-  
It was over. They had had a good run.

"Please," snorted Mandy. "It's never over with you two."  
"It is now," said Ian.

Lip came over, told him Ian wasn't doing well.   
"Do I look like I give a fuck?"  
"Yeah. Yeah, you do," said Lip. "His trial's Friday. You comin'?"  
"Fuck no," said Mickey.   
"He's going to fuck it up without you there," said Lip.  
"He's already fucked it up," said Mickey.   
Ian didn’t fuck it up, but only because his Fiona had so much shit to say about him. He was dishonorably discharged on mental illness grounds, given a mandatory state issued therapist and shoved into the back of the Gallagher car like a zombie. 

It was only when Mickey was gone that Ian could really feel that he left. Sure, when Ian was running around with Monica, when Ian was running away from home, when Ian was working at Fairytales, all those times Ian had been away from Mickey had been different because he knew where Mickey was. Now Mickey was gone.  
There were a thousand small kindnesses Mickey had done to prove to Ian he loved him, over and over again, while he waited for Ian to get better. There was always a glass of water next to his pills. There were kisses to the top of his head before and after he finished taking them. There were nights Mickey stayed up with him because he couldn’t sleep. There were long dark weeks that left Mickey worn and haggard, just watching him in that bed. Mickey was loyal and sweet and all of that wasn’t easy for him but he pushed himself every day he was with Ian because he wanted to be worthy of him. Mickey didn’t make him feel bad for having no sex drive (on the few nights that they cuddled together and Mickey got hard against him and blushed Ian felt flattered, more than flattered), Mickey didn’t make him feel unhinged, Mickey forgave him for kidnapping his fucking son, for shooting a porno but in the end Mickey couldn’t forgive him for leaving. For giving up. For not having faith in Mickey.   
And there were the voicemails. Ian finally listened to them, ear pressed against the phone, in bed, heart breaking.  
“It’s the scariest thing in the world because you’re here but you aren’t really here, you know? I know you’re in there somewhere, that part of you still likes me, I think-“ Mickey rambled on into the phone. He said his first I love you into the phone instead of his boyfriend. He cried. Ian cried to hear it. The best thing in the world and he had ruined it. 

“The fuck are you doing here?” snapped Mickey.  
“Ian,” said Lip.  
“That’s done,” said Mickey. “We’re fucking done.”  
“Doesn’t seem like it,” said Lip.   
Mickey crossed the room and grabbed a handful of Lip’s shirt. “You don’t have any idea what the fuck it seems like!” he yelled. “You weren’t here!”  
Lip just looked at Mickey.   
“What the fuck do I have to do to prove I’m done, Gallagher?”  
Mickey overturned his bed. “This is where we fucked for the first time. Fuck it! Fuck him!” Mickey kicked the bed. “How bout this?” Mickey pulled out his gun and shot the picture of Ian hanging on the wall, the one where Ian looked like an angel, the one that stayed with Mickey when Ian hadn’t. “How bout this?” Mickey grabbed Ian’s army jacket and tried to rip it to shreds. “Polyester bullshit!” Mickey snarled, shoving Lip. “How bout this? I don’t ever want to see you or any fucking Gallaghers ever again! I’m leaving so you can come here whenever the fuck you want! Now get out of my way!” Mickey roared. Mickey slammed the front door of his house closed to reveal Ian frozen on his front porch.   
Mickey looked at him. “Piece of shit,” he said. “You always pushed me to do all your shit. You wanted me to be this loving fucking boyfriend, I became that guy, you beat the shit out of me for being a fag. I came out for you! for you, Ian! Well, fuck! You can fuck all the geriatric viagroids you want because I’m never coming back here! Never!”  
Mickey pushed Ian out of the way, stumbled down the stairs and got into a beat up jalopy, laying on the horn as he drove away.  
Lip came onto the porch. “Sorry, man. I tried,” he said. Ian sat down heavily. “What did you do?” asked Lip. “He was so in love with you, I thought he would’ve forgiven anything.”  
Ian bit his lip. “I fucked up,” he whispered.   
“Let’s go home,” said Lip.   
“He’s better than you,” whispered Ian. “He was there for me.”  
“I’m here now,” said Lip heavily. “What do you need?”  
“I just need to be alone,” said Ian. “…Thanks.”  
Ian wandered around Mickey’s old room. Mickey’s rage still hung in the air. “I’m sorry,” Ian whispered. Don’t ever come in here again, the room told him. 

He couldn’t function for a while. He started taking his meds so he could be better for Mickey. Ian started to be healthier for Mickey. It was all for Mickey. At night Ian would check all the nightclubs in Boystown for signs of Mickey even though he knew Mickey wouldn’t be there. Mickey wasn’t like him. Mickey didn’t just fuck random guys. Sex was private and special to Mickey and Ian knew he talked a big game about switching in juvie and all that but Mickey wasn’t really like that. Not with Ian.   
“Svetlana, please,” said Ian.  
“He does not want you,” she snapped. “Let go of me.”  
“I need to see him. To apologize. To-“  
“I don’t care,” yelled Svetlana, abruptly shoving Ian. “He is father of my son! You make him sad, I should fuck you up!”  
“Do it then,” Ian growled.   
She punched him in the face until he saw stars. “Tellmewhereheispleasetellmewhereheis” Ian kept mumbling. Svetlana dumped him on the same porch where he had gotten high millions of times with Mickey, where he had assumed Mickey wasn’t listening to him talk until Mickey would remind him of it months later. “I had a goldfish named Mary,” he said once, years ago.   
One of Mickey’s new whores was named Mary. “Like your fish,” Mickey said immediately.   
“Lip was the one who taught me how to drive,” Ian would ramble. “He never taught me how to parallel park.”  
In the car stopping at the grocery store parking lot Mickey poked him in the arm. “Switch,” Mickey said, pointing to the driver’s seat.   
“Why?”  
“I know you can’t park, man,” said Mickey simply.   
Or when Mickey switched from hard booze to just beer because when Ian was in a bad mood Ian told him the smell of alcohol reminded him of Frank.   
Or when he found one of his old math tests crumpled into Mickey’s stuff, one he had gotten an A- on because Lip had tutored him, and he wondered why the hell Mickey had it around and the pages were faded and crumpled and Ian realized Mickey just liked to have stuff of his, as proof Ian was real when he wasn’t around.   
It was a year before Ian found Mickey. It was months before Mickey allowed Ian to take him on a date. Mickey was still defensive around Ian for a long time. He was sensitive about blow jobs after Ian had told him to just ‘suck it harder, you faggot’ that one time. A tense Milkovich, kneeling between Ian’s legs, staring it with a complicated mixture of fear, lust and anxiety and Ian whispering that he didn’t have to do that and pulling Mickey up for a kiss. Ian could tell Mickey still didn’t trust him, just needed him in a familiar kind of way, and the idea that he could have hurt Mickey like that tortured him. Ian tried to prove himself to Mickey in small ways every single day like Mickey used to do to him. Mickey never asked where he was going when Ian left, never demanded to know where he was, pretended not to care at all that Ian might have been stepping out to go fuck someone else. The sex was still great, even if it was quicker and less personal at first. There was Ian turning Mickey to face him and Mickey mumbling “no, I don’t want to do it like that” and lying face down on the bed while Ian fucked him. There was no proud he’s my boyfriend stares. There was no whispering his name and I love yous in Russian. There were no I love yous at all. It was a slow process.   
Ian wished he could step back in time, be the sixteen year old version of himself Mickey loved, not the shattered and fragmented version he had become. Mickey only loved him because he contained remnants from before he got diagnosed.   
“I don’t think that’s true,” said the therapist. “He sounds very loyal and loving, from what you’ve told me. You just have to work on respecting his boundaries and making him feel comfortable.”  
It often felt like Mickey was watching him, as Ian had predicted, waiting for him to do his next crazy shit, and Ian didn’t know how to convince him that he was okay.   
“I love you,” Ian whispered all the time. Mickey said nothing. The first time Ian whispered it Mickey had gotten out of bed, threw on some boxers and stared at the wall.   
“What do you want me to say to that?” he snapped.   
Ian shrugged. “I just wanted you to know.”  
Mickey rubbed his forehead and silently left the room.   
It took a while but things got better. Mickey still couldn’t tell Ian he loved him, still couldn’t have sex face to face, but they were making progress. Mickey was worth it.   
Ian got off the couch quickly and rushed to the dugout. Mickey was telling Jake some crazy story, he could tell by the way Mickey was gesturing and he could see that Jake had never beaten Mickey up or called him a fag or cheated on him or kidnapped his son, which made it easier for Mickey to trust Jake but Mickey had chosen to be with him for the millionth time and Ian had no idea why.   
“Hey,” said Ian slowly.   
“Hey,” said Iggy, Jake and Mick turning to look at him.   
“Just thought I would see what was going on,” said Ian lamely.   
Mickey looked at him. Jake drifted off onto the bleachers with Iggy.  
“What’s up?” said Mickey. “You really want to be here?”  
“You’re here,” said Ian simply, meaning you’re here, you didn’t leave, you came back and I love you, I love you, I love you and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of you and I’ll love you even if you can never say it back and never call me Ian again.  
Mickey shoved his hands in his pockets. “Okay,” said Mickey, handing him a beer. Mickey didn’t trust him now, probably wouldn’t trust him anytime soon, but someday, the sooner the better, Mickey would look him in the eyes and trust him again, let Ian touch him when they weren’t having sex, whisper his sweet nothings in Russian, leak all over Ian’s bed and love Ian the way he used to before Ian set fire to all that.  
Someday soon. Ian believed in that and he thought Mickey did a little bit too or he wouldn’t have stayed there next to him in the dugout, saying nothing but everything at the same time. Ian sucked in his breath.  
“You look beautiful,” he told Mickey.  
“Fuck off,” said Mickey automatically.   
I’ve already done that, Ian once mocked him. We gonna go get married like a bunch of old queens?   
Ian sat down. “What?” Mickey demanded.   
“Nothing…I just…wish things could be how they used to be,” Ian mumbled. “You know how sorry I am, Mick.”  
Mickey’s hands twitched. “I’m trying,” he said finally. “It’s just…hard after…”  
“You don’t have to try,” said Ian earnestly. “Let me prove it to you. I’ll spend my whole life proving it to you.”  
We gonna go and get married like a bunch of old queens?  
Ian’s words hung in the air.   
“I’m sorry,” Ian said again. Mickey let Ian take his arm and hold his hand gently between Ian’s, caressing the dirty tattoos and roughness of it and even though Ian could tell Mickey’s heart was pounding and he was tense and nervous Mickey was the bravest person Ian knew and so he let Ian hold his hand again, even though Ian had sat and watched Sammi run after him with a gun and said nothing, even though Ian had lashed out at him again and again, even though he felt like killing himself every single time Ian pulled any of that shit…  
“I know, Ian,” said Mickey roughly.   
Ian wished Mickey would calm down around him, would stop waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Ian to laugh at him and call him a fag, for Ian to hear him say I love you and then tell him the whole thing was a big joke but Ian didn’t deserve Mickey’s trust yet. Someday he would hug Mickey would hug him back. Someday he would hug all the tension out of Mickey’s body. Someday.   
Looking at Mickey’s focused face, his ocean eyes, and his widow’s peak and his pale face and his nervous little laugh, Ian could tell that Mickey was looking forward to that someday as much as he was and that was all he had ever wanted, really.   
Someday. Someday soon, maybe.


End file.
